Fuck Shaun and my Dead Husband: I Have A Wasteland To Play In

Dear Fallout 4 & Bethesda,

Stop wasting my flavor and triggering me with your incessant mentioning of my butter voiced dead husband and ambiguously raced melee weapon son Shaun. I’m looking fierce and I have bigger concerns.

This is the Wasteland and my insides are as dead as 99% of natural vegetation. Have you forgotten that I was a lawyer? And as a competent lawyer in my previous hum-drum existence, I was stone fucking cold and capable of handling bidness. Watch it, Raider Scum!

Seriously though, Courtenay Taylor, don’t get all weepy when I have to mention dumbass Shaun. I don’t think I’d sound like that. Maybe I never wanted a son. Maybe I wanted a daughter. Maybe I wanted a child-free existence. I sure as shit did not want a son named Shaun (no offense, reader Shaun!). I slept better in that cryogenic coffin than I did when that little shit was keeping me up wailing at night. The best thing about the nukes hitting Sanctuary Hills was getting out of this nuclear family.

Get with the times and get off my back. There’s a shit ton of chems to get into my system and now that there’s no Child Protective Services or Nancy Grace to charge me with child neglect, I’m going to take this opportunity to do whatever the hell I want. Such as my remarkably chill companions who are willing to open up to a sociopathic killer who has taken more lives than a herd of pissed off deathclaws. My mates don’t care that I’m more invested in turning in centuries old library books than I am in finding my son and that’s the way I like it.

While we’re at it, fuck off, settlers! I have SHIT TO DO. Are you going to return that signed baseball or mix green paint? Didn’t fucking think so. Tear up baby Shaun’s remaining onesies and your piss soaked cigarettes and make a bed yourself. I don’t care if you’re hungry. You don’t think I’m hungry? I just ate an iguana on a stick. I brought you food, I got you the compound, for fuck’s sake, DO SOMETHING you lazy layabouts.

Seeing as I’ve got a million things to do and can’t take five steps without tripping over someone who needs my help and is willing to cough up the caps to get it, I’m going to go.

Also, I’ve just about had it with these fuckers eating up all my stimpaks. Help a girl out.

Love,

Sole Survivor

 

This work by Audrey Chase is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.